Derek's bored of the movie, but he has Stiles on his lap--this should be fun.
Porn battle prompt: public sex
It was movie night.
The whole group was at Derek and Stiles’ house, lounging across the various comfy sofas and pillows on the ground. Erica had sprawled herself alluringly on the loveseat with Boyd as a headrest; Jackson lounged next to Lydia, one arm slung over her shoulder as she nested her head against his chest. Scott was sitting on the ground between Allison’s legs and was currently resting his cheek on her knee as she stroked his hair (Stiles nearly gagged at the sweetness). Danny was sprawled across the floor on a pillow with Isaac sitting cross-legged next to him.
The group had managed to take up every seat, leaving only a one-seat squashy couch for Stiles and Derek. Derek had shrugged and plopped down into the seat, pulling Stiles down on top of him. They’d gotten used to their friends crowding into their living room and taking up all the space.
When it came time to choose the movie (after most of the popcorn was gone and Stiles had to go into the kitchen and pop more), Lydia kicked up a fuss about The Notebook, but they all managed to over-rule it and picked Les Miserables. Derek didn’t seem to have much of a preference but Stiles thought Derek liked the movie—he hadn’t made a single critique about the movie since the opening credits.
Unfortunately fortunately, Stiles was wrong. Very wrong.
See, Derek was bored of the movie. The only reason he hadn’t been making any comments was because last time Lydia had threatened to break into their apartment and cut off his genitals if he talked throughout the next movie—not that Derek was afraid of Lydia, it was simply that Derek quite liked his genitals where they were.
The other reason he hadn’t said anything was Stiles. Stiles probably wasn’t aware of it, but he had been wiggling on Derek’s lap every time there was a song, and as this was a movie filled with music—Derek had a very, ah, hard problem. He was surprised Stiles hadn’t felt something jabbing at his ass.
Derek huffed out a breath of irritation, he needed to fuck Stiles, they hadn’t had the time to do much more than sleep next to each other for a week now with Derek working on a case and Stiles busy grading papers for the end of the semester. Derek bit back a groan as Stiles squirmed again. Dammit, Derek thought in despair, there were so many songs, fuck, he’d never last the whole movie—and that, is when Derek had a brilliant idea.
Stiles had been happily watching the movie when all of a sudden; he felt Derek’s hand slithering down his back. Not thinking too much on it—Derek liked touching him all the time—he continued to watch the movie, too engrossed to notice Derek’s carefully even breath.
And so Stiles was caught by surprise when he felt Derek’s rough, calloused finger slide down the back of his sweatpants to tease at the cleft of his ass.
“Derek!” hissed Stiles, twisting his head to stare at Derek who had a perfectly innocent expression. Blinking at Stiles, Derek didn’t say a word as his finger traced the rim and then pushed its way in. Stiles bit down at his lip to muffle a gasp as he felt a slight burn from being breached without any lube.
Derek leaned forward and whispered to Stiles, “Don’t make a sound,” breath hot against his ear. Stiles had to choke back a whimper at that—fuck, they were in the living room, in plain sight of everyone, all anyone had to do was turn around and see—
Derek smirked at Stiles and pulled his hand from Stiles pants, eliciting a barely there groan as his finger came out. Stiles held his breath and waited for Derek’s next move, eyes barely focusing on the TV screen. He heard the muffled sound of a cap being popped and nearly had a heart attack, gaze darting from Allison to Jackson and then to Danny, wondering at their obliviousness.
And then he wasn’t worrying about that anymore as he felt a cold, slick finger slide back into him. Stiles squirmed against the cold and Derek paused, waiting for Stiles’ warm tightness to heat the lube before pushing all the way in and then crooking his finger.
“Fuck—“ Stiles breathed, hand clenching at Derek’s arm that was wrapped around his middle. “Der,” he barely got out the first syllable before his breath hitched as another finger joined the first. Slowly, painstakingly, Derek scissored his fingers, not allowing Stiles to catch his breath before curling his fingers just so, managing to brush against Stiles’ prostate, and fuck keeping quiet was so hard. Stiles was loud when he talked and loud when they fucked. Derek knew that, Stiles knew that Derek knew that; god, Derek must be taking so much pleasure from this.
Derek tightened his grip on Stiles before pulling both fingers out, but then had to cover Stiles’ mouth with his hand to stifle the whimper of loss. Once he was sure that Stiles was quiet again, he squeezed some more lube on his fingers (Stiles could just faintly hear the squish sound), three fingers were shoved back in and Stiles bucked against the sudden intrusion, bringing his own hand up to his mouth so he could bite the back of his hand in an effort to stay silent. Derek’s fingers worked torturously slow, curling, twisting, simply fucking up into him. Stiles is nearly writhing on Derek’s fingers soon.
“Yeah,” Derek murmured near Stiles’ ear, lips brushing against his earlobe with every word, “That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, right in front of everyone. Can’t make a sound though,” he huffed as Stiles had to stuff his fist into his mouth in order to stop himself from moaning shamelessly, “Otherwise they’ll know. I wanna see you come apart right here, just from the feeling of my fingers stuffed inside of your hole.”
A low-pitched, humming whine broke from Stiles’ mouth causing Derek to still as Scott turned around. Stiles whipped his hand down from his mouth, blinking innocently at Scott, all too aware of Derek’s fingers still twirling inside him.
“You ok, bro?” asked Scott, somewhat vaguely as he was still partially focused on the movie. Stiles was never more grateful that his best friend was a complete rock.
“Yeah, I’m f—fine!” his calm response ended in a slight yelp as Derek pressed a finger against his prostate. Scott tilted his head at Stiles, a bit more worried now.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” muttered Stiles, praying that the dark would cloak his undoubtedly bright red blush. He had to tighten his white-knuckled grip on Derek’s arm and the sofa arm to prevent from squirming, or oh god, fucking himself back onto Derek’s fingers as all three digits pressed squarely on his prostate. Eyesight blurring a bit, he noted distantly that Scott looked satisfied and had turned back to the movie.
“Good boy,” breathed Derek, Stiles could tell from his voice that he had a smug look on his face. Clenching down spitefully on Derek’s fingers, he was delighted to hear a sharp intake of breath from Derek as he felt the squeeze. It was too early to be happy, it seemed as Derek slid in a fourth finger and made it his goal to press against that bundle of nerves every time he pushed in and out. Stiles was trembling with the effort to control himself from coming—the last thing he needed was to come in his sweatpants and have a wet spot on his crotch. Derek seemed to realize this and stuck his other hand down the front of Stiles’ pants and stroked his cock. The risky adrenaline rush of almost getting caught and the knowledge that any moment their friends could turn around and see them had Stiles tensing up almost immediately and it only took one, two strokes, and then Stiles was coming, shooting hot come into Derek’s hand. Derek moaned breathlessly as he felt Stiles clamp down on his fingers and bit down on Stiles’ neck and thrusting helplessly up into Stiles before finding his own release.
It was a few minutes before either of them caught their breath. Derek slowly extracted his hand from the front of Stiles’ pants and wiped his hand of Stiles’ come onto the random t-shirt on the ground next to the sofa. Derek wasn’t going to complain about Stiles’ slob habits this time. Stiles winced and bit back a whine as Derek withdrew his other hand from Stiles’ ass and wiped that hand as well. He was boneless, soft-limbed and satiated, leaning back into Derek’s chest and settling to watch the rest of the movie with sleepy-eyed content.
“Why does it smell like sex?” Scott asked, nose crinkling up like a puppy that was confused.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jackson snarked, “You can’t smell sex. That’s just in porn and shit.”
Scott glared at Jackson and opened his mouth to retort that yes, sex did have a smell, the living room smelled like his and Allison’s bedroom after a session of love-making (yes, he called it love-making, so?) before catching Allison’s eye and cringing at what would be a likely ban from their bedroom if he ever said that. So he settled with glowering at Jackson and declaring that, “It does, and this living room smells like it.”
Allison and Lydia rolled their eyes at each other before saying their goodbyes to Stiles and Derek, still cuddled up on the couch (cooing a bit at their cuddling) and dragging their still arguing boyfriends out the door. Neither boys noticed the abnormally red flush of Stiles’ cheeks or the rumpled t-shirt where a bit of dried semen could be made out.
Danny, Erica, and Boyd both saw themselves out when they saw that Derek and Stiles weren’t budging, calling out good-byes and see-you-laters at the door.
At last, the door slammed closed after Isaac, who was last out the door and Stiles twisted his head up and back to smile at Derek.
Derek rolled his eyes at Stiles before dropping a chaste kiss on his lips. “Only with you.”
Stiles’ expression softened and he crawled out of Derek’s lap before standing up and puling Derek up after him. Wrapping his arms around Derek’s waist, he tucked his chin on Derek’s shoulder.
“I think you owe me a proper fuck,” Stiles whispered. Derek’s grip on him tightened before a low chuckle sounded and Stiles was dragged, willingly, off into the bedroom.